


Changing Tides

by FrenchToast



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Blam, College, Coming Out, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Parenthood, Sexual Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:12:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2502401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchToast/pseuds/FrenchToast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever adulthood puts you on the edge of a cliff and pokes you with a stick, there is only one sensible thing to do: take a deep breath, close your eyes, and jump.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changing Tides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers!
> 
> 1\. This is a multi-chaptered fic, with a slow build-up towards romantic Blam. Smut may or may not happen; you've been warned.  
> 2\. Season 5 canon for Sam has been disregarded; he stays in New-York to do his thing. Some other canon elements may be disregarded as well to better fit this fiction, but never anything drastic (i.e. Blaine being a dragon in disguise all along).  
> 3\. There is no scheduled update on this, but hopefully, it should be at least once every 2 weeks. Once every week, if everything goes well.  
> 4\. I invite you all to give me any critics you have! I enjoy them, so don't be scared.
> 
> More importantly, this fiction portrays the daily trials of two young adults trying to make it in this crazy world of ours (mostly Sam-centric). Lo and behold, there will be angst, comedy, fluff, and everything in between. 
> 
> Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

It took him a few hours to swallow his pride. It was mostly spent walking, but Sam didn’t care. It helped clear his mind. It defused his anger, if ever so slightly. His feet weren’t taking him anywhere in particular—they didn’t have to. At this point, he was too busy rolling the same thoughts in his brain, over and over again, and he couldn't bring himself to worry about the destination.

That is, until the frigid night breeze started biting at his reddened cheeks. He found himself dodging a few bypassers to holler at a cab coming from the other side of the road, crossing over in a hurried pace when it slowed down to a stop. A puff of cold flaring out of his nostrils, he huddled inside the taxi and gave indications to the aged middle-eastern driver. He frowned at his iPhone screen the whole ride, with his fingers hovering over an empty text message void of any recipients. Taylor Swift’s bellowing on the radio, along with the driver’s out of tune humming, were distracting at best. Truth be told, he wouldn’t have known what to type and who to send it to no matter the circumstances, but it was easier to blame.

Giving the driver his due when the cab came to a stop, Sam stepped out and looked up at the ten-story condo building rising up before him. His lips were stretched thin at the sight. Not that there was anything wrong with it; it was a nice place to live, and he’d come here a thousand times in the past. He just didn’t think he’d ever have to stumble like a wounded dog at Blaine’s door in the middle of the night, tail between his legs. It wasn’t ideal, and he hated himself for imposing without any call or warning, but it beat the alternatives. Sleeping on a chilly park bench wasn’t exactly appealing, and he wasn’t heading back home. Not tonight.

Passing through the lobby and towards the elevators, he couldn’t help but marvel at the décor yet again. It wasn’t high-end or anything, far from it, but it was way above a college student’s price range. Blaine’s father death insurance, along with a nice inheritance and the bank account attached to it, were paying for most of the rent. Blaine had intended to use the money solely for his NYADA scholarship, but looking at all the funds that had suddenly piled at his feet, it hadn’t taken him long to indulge in a condo free of moss or rats. Living in New-York city without any kind of backup from parents was hard (a fact Sam was painfully aware of), and no affordable apartment was anything but a garbage dump.

Sam wasn’t jealous, not really. Blaine had always been part of the high middle-class, what with his father being a psychologist and his mother a neurosurgeon, and Sam was happy for him. His father dying wasn’t something to be excited about, anyway, money-packed inheritance or not. Blaine and his parents had always had an odd relationship, by Sam’s standards, but he’d been one of the shoulders Blaine had bawled on, with snot on the side and all that, at the funeral. Sam knew better than to think the inheritance had softened the blow.

Arriving at Blaine’s door after his short trek up the floors, his fist went to knock but paused in midair. He bit his lower lip, took his iPhone out to glance at it one last time—1:57 AM—and huffed. It took a moment, but he proceeded with the movement. The sound of his knuckles banging on the hardwood disturbed the silence filling the pristine corridor, making him instinctively look at either sides like a guilty kid who’d touched the cookie jar’s lid.  No response being had after a whole minute, he mashed the bell instead and, sure enough, he heard the chain and lock working from behind the door within seconds.

Blaine, sleep rumpled and gelled hair disheveled, opened the door tentatively at first. His eyes were squinty from the corridor’s bright lighting, but a tired smile broke on his features as soon as realization dawned on him.

“Sam?” Blaine said in a hoarse, uncharacteristic voice. He readjusted the glasses perching on his nose, “What are you doing here?”

Sam looked down at his feet and scratched at the back of his neck, his other hand buried deep in his jeans pocket. It took him a moment to come up with a reasonable answer. “I, well. Would you believe me if I told you the Kree invaded my apartment?”

Blaine would’ve usually rolled his eyes at his antics. His smile, however, faltered. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Can I come in?”

“O-of course! Sorry,” Blaine said as he opened the door wider and stepped out of the way, clearly embarrassed at his lack of manners.

Blaine was quick to relieve him of his coat and bomber hat, fussing over how cold it must’ve been outside as he pawed at the still chill fabric.  Sam watched him with amusement when they passed by the mirror hanging in the entryway, Blaine stopping briefly to muss his hair back into place (without much success, but he wasn’t about to tell him that) while they made their way further inside the condo.

Blaine cleared his throat loudly all the way to the living room, his pace picking up speed as he seemed to regain some energy. As soon as they crossed the doorway, he said, “Want some coffee? I can—“

“Don’t,” Sam said, already feeling bad enough about even being here in the first place. “I’m just gonna crash on your couch, if that’s okay.”

Blaine turned around to face him, staring with pursed lips as he fumbled with his fluffy blue bathrobe to tie it closed. The silent “ _Dude._ ” was obvious enough, and to be honest? Sam knew he wouldn’t have been able to get away without giving some sort of explanation for his impromptu visit; it wouldn’t be fair to Blaine. He just didn’t know how to go about it. It was a simple ordeal to explain, really, but he feared he might punch a wall if he let it all out. It was still raw, from a quiet dinner at an expensive restaurant that had turned sour real fast, only mere hours ago. He hated being angry.

Or, rather, he hated that someone he trusted so much would give him a reason to be. He liked to think he was a pretty chill, cheerful guy, but even he had lines that shouldn’t be crossed.

As Blaine and he sat on the couch together, it all came pouring out like a broken dam. His girlfriend, pregnant. With his child. Blaine’s face had reflected his own at the announcement; wide eyes, mouth slightly agape, sort of like a deer caught in the headlights. Sam could barely look him in the eye.

She’d secretly stopped taking birth control pills a while ago— she had already reached 3 months without him being the wiser. Sure, she’d gained some weight, but nothing dramatic enough for Sam to care. The worst thing about it? She was planning on keeping the baby, and expecting him to be okay with it. To stick around and act like she hadn’t outlined the next twenty years of his life for him, without batting an eyelash. Granted, they’d been together for over a year and a half, and he _did_ love her, but he wasn’t an idiot. That was messed up (“It is.” Blaine had reassured him as Sam had glanced at him with doubt written all over his face), and he couldn’t put up with it and keep his dignity intact.

Not that having a baby was bad as of itself, but it would be on his own terms. When it would happen, the woman bearing his child wouldn’t try to guilt trip him into being happy about it, nor would she even have considered such a plan in the first place. He wasn’t a tool one could dispose of as they saw fit. He thought he’d known her, after all this time spent together. He’d shared an apartment with her for months; Jane was sweet, funny and smart, and he simply couldn’t wrap his head around why she’d think doing that to him would be a good idea.

“Besides, I don’t even know how I’d provide for the three of us,” Sam said, his eyes dropping on his wringing hands. His pathetic undertone wasn’t lost on him. “I barely get modeling gigs anymore, just enough to pay rent. I don’t even have my degree yet, man.”

They both stayed silent for a while, with Blaine being a comforting presence sitting close to him and rubbing his back in steady circles. His warmth felt good, compared to the couple of hours he’d spent brooding in the frosty night, and he knew there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be at this moment. Being best bros with him was its own kind of awesome; he knew that, without a fault, Blaine would always be there by his side no matter what. It went without saying that the feeling was reciprocated, although Sam more often than not felt he had much less to give out of the two of them.  

What he liked most about it was how Blaine didn’t feel the need to point out what Sam should and shouldn’t do in this situation. He didn’t judge, nor did he patronize him. He only listened, hummed and frowned at all the right places and didn’t try to solve the whole thing for him, like someone would with a child. He was well aware Blaine had a thing or two to say about it (and, more specifically, about his girlfriend), but he kept his mouth shut out of respect. His sympathetic looks were enough for Sam, and he was glad. Glad that Blaine was the one person who _got_ him. He’d thought he’d bare his teeth and lash out when confiding his problems, but Blaine’s calm disposition put him at ease, like it always had.

“I need to talk to her. I’m so pissed, dude, but I can’t let it fester,” Sam said, even though he wouldn’t know where to begin. This whole thing was a deal breaker, as far as he was concerned, and he was pretty sure she couldn’t find a way to patch it up— even if she decided not to have the baby. He wasn’t the brightest bulb in the lot, but he didn’t particularly enjoy being played for a fool.

“You know what?” Blaine said with a sigh as he clapped his thighs and stood up. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Let’s forget about Jane and the baby for a bit, and concentrate on the important stuff: the Avengers. Then, you can sleep on it, because tomorrow is a new day.”

With promises to talk about it in the morning, Blaine went and made coffee for the both of them as Sam set up the DVR. Blaine came back with pillows and blankets, as well as the cups (French vanilla for Sam, black for himself), and they comfortably settled on both ends of the couch to raptly watch Robert Downey Jr. kick some serious ass for the hundredth time. “We have to be prepared for Age of Ultron,” Blaine had said, earning an exaggerated eyeroll from Sam. They’d end up watching it a few more times before the sequel came out, he was sure, but he didn’t mention it.

Sam wasn’t the least bit surprised when Blaine fell asleep halfway through. He was awkwardly slumped against the arm of the couch, but Sam didn’t dare disturb his sleep; he discreetly went and tucked the discarded blanket under Blaine's chin before letting his head fall on his pillow, careful not to take too much space with his legs from his side.

Closing his eyes, he allowed the lingering, sweet taste of vanilla on his tongue and his friend’s distinctively warm brand of cologne to lull him into slumber.


End file.
